The Sherpa and the American shiver and blow on their hands. This isn’t a night to be out and they both know it. They’re also aware the vehicle isn’t going anywhere for a while.
“How long before someone comes along?” the American asks.
The Sherpa says on a night like this, it might be hours.
The American doesn’t like the answer. He pulls out his phone.
I let him look for service without saying a word. I know there is none. We’re far from any tower that might provide a connection.
“What a fucking country,” he says as he puts his phone into his pocket.
The Sherpa tells us that we cannot stay in the vehicle. Even if we conserve the fuel, we will eventually freeze. We must find a better shelter.
The American disagrees. In America, people stay with their cars because it’s stupid to roam out in the thick of a storm. We could be going in circles. The Sherpa doesn’t care. He tells us that he noticed a lane as we left the road. While the lane is unused, it must lead to some kind of shelter. And that shelter cannot be far. It will be better there than here since the snow will soon cover the tracks we made. No one will notice till the storm is long gone.
The American doesn’t like the message, but he has little choice. This is Russia, and the Sherpa is in command. The American agrees to go a little further, but not too far. If we don’t find something in fifteen minutes, we should come back while we can still see our footprints.
Fifteen minutes in this snow will take us perhaps a kilometer, and I agree that if the shelter isn’t within a kilometer, we should return. Wandering around in the dark and snow will certainly kill us. The Sherpa doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t have to. The American seems to have taken over, even though this is the Sherpa’s territory.
The wind is strong, but it isn’t yet at blizzard speed. We can walk and going single file along our own tracks is fine. The Sherpa finds the lane, and turns into the unmarred snow. I bow my head into the blowing, thick snow and slog after the Sherpa. As he plows ahead, I follow, stretching my legs to land my feet in his tracks. That makes it easier. I know the American is behind me even though I can’t see him.
For a moment, I wonder if dying in a blizzard will be my fate, but I know the American is keeping track. I’m pretty sure the snow is not falling so thickly that it will cover our tracks in fifteen minutes.
The American shouts that we have reached our time limit. The Sherpa stops and looks back. The American comes around and stands by the Sherpa who points up ahead. I follow the direction he is pointing to. There in the snow is the dark outline of a house, or, barn or some kind of wooden structure.
We all see it. But it’s the American who takes the lead now. I move around the Sherpa who takes up the rear gratefully. Leading through the snow is a job for a dog, not a man. I find it slightly easier to step into the American’s prints. It is as if he is deliberately keeping his stride small to make it less demanding for me. In minutes, we reach what was once a house, is still a kind of house. As I step onto the porch, the American tries the door. It’s locked.
He pounds at it, but there are no lights, and I’m certain no one is inside. This is just the remnant of some dream, the last dregs of a wish.
The Sherpa joins the American and between the two of them, they manage to force the door open. I hurry past them into the house, thankful for the shelter. The Sherpa closes the door as the American turns on his phone and shines its light around the room.
What we see is encouraging.
The room isn’t completely bare. There’s a table with chairs and beyond that a kitchen with cabinets and a sink with a pump. On one side is a fireplace, and beside it, a few old logs. There are two other closed doors that must be a bedroom and perhaps a bathroom. I have no hope of running water, but we have lots of snow that we can melt. If we are lucky, the pump will work. If we are unlucky, we will do our business outside in the snow. I do not relish that probability, but it is a small matter compared to freezing to death in a ditch.
“Check out those rooms,” the American tells me.
As I head for the door, I hear him talk to the Sherpa. “Get your lighter out. We need to start a fire.”
The first room is the bedroom. While the bed and other furniture are gone, there is an old mattress on the floor. It’s not much, but it might be something we can use. I check the small closet. It’s bare. I had hoped that perhaps a blanket or two might be left behind. We aren’t that lucky.
The second room is the bathroom, and while there is a sink, bath and toilet, there is no water. If the pump in the kitchen doesn’t work, the bathroom is useless. In the half light from the other room, I look at myself in the cloudy mirror. I don’t look so good tonight. I laugh. The sound comes out wild and a little scary. “Get a hold of yourself, Katya,” I tell my reflection sternly before turning away.
Back in the main room, the Sherpa and the American have managed to light a small fire from some paper scraps. The Sherpa takes an old log and slams it on the floor, trying to split it. It is dry and breaks apart easily, then he adds the small pieces to the fire.
I know that in five minutes we’ll have enough light and heat to survive—at least for the time being. And it’s only the time being I’m worried about. I move to the fire and crouch in front of it. It will take a lot of fire to heat this house, and we don’t have enough logs, but I am guessing there will be some outside.
The American goes to the pump and jacks the handle up and down several times. No water comes out, but he doesn’t seem disgusted. The Sherpa tells him the pump needs to be primed. The American isn’t quite sure what priming is, and I realize he’s never experienced a pump before. He’s a city man. He’s never dealt with life in the country. That might be a very bad thing at this point.
Luckily, the Sherpa knows what to do. He looks for something that will hold water, and he finds nothing but small glasses and cracked cups. We can melt snow, but he’s not going to worry about that. Instead, he climbs into the sink and pees down the pump, priming it with piss.
I turn away. That’s the last thing I want to see.
But it works.
After he pees, he works the pump, and rusty water comes out. He keeps pumping until the water turns clear, and he turns to us with a smile on his face. He’s managed to give us the thing we need most—water in the toilet.
The American smiles.
We’re making progress.
“There’s a mattress in the bedroom,” I tell the American.
The American doesn’t need to be told twice. He goes into the bedroom and drags out the mattress which he sets before the thriving fire.
I sit on it because it’s softer and will be warmer than the floor.
The Sherpa tells us he’s going to walk around the house and see if there’s wood or something else useful.
After he’s gone, I turn to the American, and I speak softly. I don’t think the Sherpa can hear, but I want to be careful, “I don’t think this is good.”
Hunter
She looks at me with real concern on her face, and I know what she’s thinking. This is crap. Yes, we have water and shelter and a fire, but there’s no food, and no one is looking for us. Even if someone finds the vehicle, they probably won’t find us. We’re too far away, and our tracks are probably snowed over already. But there’s nothing to be done at the moment, we can’t go back to the vehicle and we can’t contact anyone. We’re stuck, at least till the snow stops.
“It isn’t good,” I tell her. “It’s terrible, but we can’t do anything about it. We’re lucky to have this much.”
“If we run out of wood, we’ll freeze to death.”
“We have a table and chairs that will burn and if need be, we’ll rip up the cabinets. I think we have enough for a day or two. That should be enough. We won’t starve in a day or two.”
“What will your boss say when you miss your flight?”
I shrug. “Anakin will be pissed, but that doesn’t matter. We have
a good excuse.”
“And when he discovers I’m no longer a virgin?”
It is the one thing I cannot stop thinking about. Anakin will be royally pissed, enough to hurt not just me but the girl too. He won’t kill me, I’m too useful to him, but it may be worth a few broken bones and new scars. “He’ll accept it,” I lie.
“Unless he thinks you did it.”
She thinks she has cut to the heart of the matter. She thinks Anakin is a reasonable man. Once it is discovered she isn’t a virgin, well, then, I’ll be the culprit whether or not it is my fault. I’m the whipping post, the little kid with his hand in the cookie jar. “Well,” I say with a shrug, “If you’re up to it, you can tell him how I picked you up while you are at it.”
She considers that a moment. “Then, my parents will suffer. They won’t get the stipend. I will have to say you forced me.”
“You can try saying that if you want, but he won’t believe it,” I say softly. Anakin knows I’d rather die than betray him. “I’m sorry, Katya. No matter how you spin it this story will not have a happy ending.”
She stares at me in astonishment. “So you’re just going to hand me over to a complete monster.”
Something primitive inside me growls at the thought, but I nod slowly.